


Choking on smoke

by creativwritingmind



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 06:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12451917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativwritingmind/pseuds/creativwritingmind





	Choking on smoke

It's not like it would be such a great deal, the first time Tyler actually sees it. It's not that he hadn't known Josh does this sometimes, when he's in LA, with the friends Tyler could never warm up with. It's also not that Tyler wouldn't have realised some of their crew people do it frequently, although they try to hide it the best they can. It's just that he wouldn't have expected Josh doing it now, on tour, in his bus, where literally everyone could walk in on him. Maintaining silence Tyler scrunches his nose, the sweet burning scent tickling his nostrils, not in a bad, but still in a way that he dislikes, and sits down beside his friend. Josh nods at him silently, while rolling the burning stick between his fingers, then lifting it, pushing the filter past his lips. His face changes when he inhales, Tyler finds, his cheeks are turned inwardly when he sucks in the smoke. This isn't the Josh he knows. This eyes, swimming in red, are not the kind, happy ones he's used to. They are blurred, and Tyler can find nothing beautiful in that. 

"You don't need to worry. I'm just stressed." Josh gives, after a while, exerted, because he he really doesn't want to talk right now, not to Tyler, not to anyone, he just wants to escape the world for a bit and feel the comforting heaviness inside his veins. Ignoring the way the drummer caughs when he takes another, maybe too deep hit, Tyler doesn't let his eyes leave his face, observing silently the stranger beside him. This is not his friend. Not like he's supposed to be. "What if it weren't me coming in here?" Letting his head fall back at the headrest and rolling it into the singers direction Josh smiles at him, no real smile, no faked one, an expression of how strange he feels, how lifted, how high. Tyler doesn't move when a wall of smoke is send his way, when it enfolds him, climbs up his nose, make his eyes water. He knows he can get high on that, if he just inhales deeply and often enough, and he knows Josh knows how much he hates this. Still he doesn't comment, let it slip. It's not his friend doing that. Josh is not provocative. Not when he's sober. 

"People who have the code know." the drummer sighs, leaning forward and kill the joint on the edge of a can, before he dumps it inside, into the darkness, like Tyler wish he would do with this whole habit. "It stinks. The whole bus stinks." "Oh, come on Ty, give me a break!" Letting himself fall backwards Josh stretches his arms to the left and right and let himself sink into the cusion. "Ah....better. You sound like my mom, dude!" he huffs out, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, following the patterns there. Sometimes Josh wishes Tyler would be more easy, more layed back, not stiff that way. Sometimes he wish his friend would understand. But there's this barrier between them, and so Tyler just stands up and sighs. "I get you need that sometimes. It's ok. Just...let's talk when you're sober, ok?" Josh doesn't answer that, doesn't call it dramatic or overplayed. He's not high as a kite, god damn, it was just this one blunt and Tyler tends to push things up a little sometimes. But right now, if he's honest, he doesn't really care what his friend thinks. Right now there's this feeling settling in his limps and he's getting heavy, grounded. Thoughts slow down and muscles relax. Tyler has no clue. This is more then ok. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Stress becomes a constant, once they are out in the world. Tyler has a hard time dealing with it, maybe that's why he doesn't get it all along. He spents his evening and nights and mornings and days with Jenna whenever he can, tries to lay off the pressure of interviews on a row, of fans hunting them down, of playing terrifiying large venues. It's not that he doesn't wonder why Josh is declining offers to stay with them, he knows the drummer feels awkward to be their third wheel sometimes, but the older is never alone, it seems. He bonds closer with their crew, and there is Mark, good old Mark, staying around and asking the right questions. It's just the videographer don't seem to have an answer when Tyler is searching for his drummer, because soundcheck should have already begun and Josh is nowhere to be seen. 

"He was pretty...wasted yesterday night though. Try one of the crew vans. He might not have crawled out of one of them yet." Mark is bitter and Tyler knows there must have been some bad words. They're all friends with each other for so long now, that they have a sensor for each others states of relations. You can't always be friend with all of your friends but you can make sure there are others taking care of them. And taking care of it is what Tyler is planning to do. In the end, Josh is in his bunk, failry surprised that he has lost track of time, as he has played some stupid online game. Tyler bites back all accusions, swallows his pride, wanting to believe it is that simple, the older had just been caught up into the virtual reality. What he can't ignore is that Josh is different, off beat. Not on his instrument, well, not more then playing live requieres sometimes. But in his behaviour. Josh smiles his brightest one, is nearly juvenile. But he is slow...too slow for Tylers liking. He's drifting off, zoneing out, whenever he's not directly talked to. 

Uncertain how to handle this Tyler takes his time to think about. It is strange, and not what he likes to do, their friendship has always been embossed by the way they just said what they thought, but this time he fels like thinking it over is necessary. How much is he supposed to intervent into his best friends decissions on life? If it would be any other kind of drug, any synthetic, harder shit, Tyler wouldn't even give it a second thought. But this...it isn't such a bad thing at all. He knows so many people, let alone in the industry, who smokes constantly and have no further problem by that. Compared to the ones who stick to alcohol they are the even smarter ones it seems, still...Tyler has never gotten the concept of kneeling to an addiction out of free will. Maybe it is because he HAS to take his meds, because he can't choose to lay off from them. It's just unlogic for him to drown a clear mind in a substance, when he needs substances to clear his mind. 

Josh is not hard to figure out, at least that is what he had been. But by now, he gets weired, a little, step by step. Over the weeks of fighting with his own conscience Tyler learns that he can tell when his friend is high and when he has his clear moments. He cherishes the few occasions on that Josh is settled with himself, his calm, friendly nature again. The change is so subtle most people don't get it, but when he is intoxicated he is not calm. He is silent. Awefully silent. Josh always talks when spoken too. Josh can mostly give the right answers. But his voice lacks of life and his eyes are distant, and for Tyler it feels like his heart is beating a little slower maybe every time. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Jeeez, Tyler! It's not like he'd be on cocaine or something!" Brendon hisses, running his hands over his face. When the younger has called him to tell him he needed some advice the singer has been fairly surprised. Tyler and him have never gotten along so well, they have deep respect for each other musicwise...but on the personal level they are too different to call each other close friends. Still Brendon feels obligated to be there, because in a way he has brought them on the road, back then, in the old days, when they have still been a little opening band. "I know....and it's not like I would be totally against it....but Bren...he seriously overdoses." "You can't overdose on weed, baby!" "Oh yeah? Look me in the eye and tell me you where never too smoked up to go into the studio or practice your instrument or go on stage!" Sighing the singer leans back. "Never on stage! But ok, you got a point." Folding his hands on the table, starring down at them Tyler gets on. "See? And this is Joshua Willim Dun we're talking about! Don't get this wrong but I'd never doubt you doing crazy stuff, you can handle that, you're a psycho just like me....but Josh? He's too...I don't know...pure? For that shit!" 

Quirking a brow Brandon decids to get rid of a question that haunts him for a while now. "You're not like... in love with him or something, right? No Joshler drama going on behind this one?" Earning a glare the singer raises his hands in defence, chuckling. "Ok, ok, I just want to make sure I'm not used to spy your boo out or something!" Groaning Tyler let his head fall on his arms. "Why did I even ask?" He raises his face though as Brendon gets pretty serious in his answer. "Because you knew I wouldn't take your request lightly. I know what you're talking about and I know it's not that easy. Where's addiction there's pain. And I don't like to see pain in my friends." 

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Tyler wakes with a jolt, being ripped out of his beautiful, late afternoon nap by two hands gripping his collar and pulling him up a little to face his angry friend. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Josh growles at him, quiet, but dangerous, because Josh never yells. Stummering Tyler tries to wake up fully and understand what's going on. "What the hell....?" "You told fucking Brendon Urie I'm a junkie? Are you insane?" The drummers grip thigthning on his shirt Tyler suddenly feels like his air is cut off and starts to cough, thankfully sign enough for his friend to let go and push him back onto the couch roughly. Towering over him Josh crosses his arms and starres down, mad as Tyler has never seen him before. "Explain!" "I...I did NOT say you're a junkie!" "I don't care about the exact words Tyler, you FUCKING BETRAYED ME!" "I did not..." "YOU WENT TO HIM BEHIND MY BACK! YOU DIDN'T TALK TO ME, YOU TALKED TO HIM!" the drummer now starts to raise his voice and Tyler feels himself go riggid, frozen, unable to react. This is not his friend, this is someone else. 

"WHO ELSE KNOWS, BEST FRIEND? MUM? JORDAN? ARE YOU PLANNING ON TELLING THE WHOLE CLIQUE?" In lack of an answer, an oponent he can attack Josh seems to realise then that Tyler has stopped to defend himself. Running his shaky hands through his fading red hair the drummer starts to pace, to take deep breaths, calm down a bit. "Fuck, Tyler! I smoke! I don't fix or drink myself to death or popp some happy pills like you do..." Whincing a little on the insult the singer still doesn't dare to answer, waits for the others anger to drop out completly. "You had no right to make it look like I was an addict to anyone, no matter how noble your intentions might have been! Why didn't you come talk to me?" Changing his posture a bit, uncurling from himself Tyler bites his lip and hopes to find the right words. "I tried. You didn't listen." "Because you don't understand!" Closing his eyes for a second Tyler gives all he has to keep himself in controll and not get loud too. "You're right. I don't understand. And I don't want to. Joshua, I'm scarred! This is not you, that shit is not you! Everyone handles it like it's nothing, like it would be just a little habit, escaping the reality once in a while. But Josh...the reality we live in isn't exactly bad! We're fucking rockstars, man! And if you need to escape that...then there must be something terribly wrong. You're hurting. And you try to numb that down. I want to know why. I want to help. But you need to let me in." 

For a second it looks like Josh would break then. His eyes waters, his hands tremble, but still his face hasn't changed from the hardness it wears. "Just...mind your fucking own buisness, Tyler, ok? Stay off my friends and mostly important stay off my life!" he hisses, before he turnes and leaves the other behind. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They have never fought before so Tyler doesn't know how to handle this. In lack of a better idea he stays silent cause in the end Josh is right. As long as the drummers new habits don't effect their performance it's not his call to worry about. Josh told him he is fine, it's just the stress, the pressure he feels too, and as a friend he has to believe him. Just, Tyler doesn't. It IS effecting their work in a way though, but noone else does realise. Like when Josh get's more and more silent in interviews again. Tyler can tell the difference between when he's anxious and when he's just too high to focus, and it annoyes the hell out of him. Still he keeps it silent, because no one else seems to see. Or to matter. Maybe it isn't as much of a deal as he thought. 

If Joshs social activities get less and less no one worries about all too much. Their strict shedule doesn't allow too much time to yourself, so it's perfectly understandable Josh takes the few moments he has for him alone. It doesn't help that the guys have picked up on it. Josh could probably smoke with them around, no one would care, it's what people would expect from stars like them, sooner or later. People have seen worse things. But he gets lazy and the multiple conversations get too much for him, he preferrs to ly on his busses roof and gaze into the stars, headphones in his ears, another joint burning in his hands. If it weren't for his mood swings, subtle but recogniseable, maybe not even Mark would have been worried. But he picks up on it, somewhen, and of course he approaches Tyler, asks him if they shouldn't talk to the drummer, tell him that his behaviour is way beyond healthy. All Tyler does is shaking his had sadly. Josh is barely talking to him right now. He doesn't want to make it any worse then it already is. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When he opens his eyes he feels cold, scratched awake by the pain in his throat, by the rasp feeling in his lungs. Josh doesn't like waking up these days, it feels more like coming back from a coma, from a wipe out. All his muscles hurt and his head is weird, floating somehow. The world is too bright and too loud and too messy, and he definitly would stay in bed if he could. But he can't. There are too many things, too many tasks and people waiting, when all he wants to do is turn around and shut off life. So he gets up, like he always does, tapping groggy through his busses aisle, switching on the water heater, wandering over to the couch. He has left his items just like they were the day before, he's beyond the point of hiding, the important people know anyway. His hair and clothes smell of weed way too often to not be a hint, so he doesn't care if Mark finds his grinder or Brad bring him the papers he lost during soundcheck on stage. Waiting for the water to boil Josh tries to ignore the lonlyness, lingering in the four metal walls he has to call his home, this unpersonal, variable space he lives in daily. 

There's already noise outside, they are at a festival, and probably everyone is already out there. Josh pretends not to hear them, it's better then feeling disconnected, then giving in to the melancholy thought of wanting to be a part of them, of life. Grabbing a paper and placing green dust inside of it, rolling it to a firm cylinder, Josh dismisses the thought. He places it beside his lighter, in a neat line, then gets up to mix his coffe, to end up the ritual that has become so essential for his daily life. Taking a sip before he lights the blunt Josh leans back, inhales, feels the warmth floating into his body, his mind. The sweet smoke burns down his dry throat, an internal way of hurting, an non visible one to feel alive. It takes out the edges of the world quickly, dulls down the noises, softens his view. Josh feels cozy, somehow, he doesn't want to care because everything feels perfectly fine. Sometimes he does wonder if he should get something deeper, more intense to escape reality. But the way this just tones down everything around him is exactlly what he needs. He's found his perfect drug. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They stare out at the darkness for an hour or so, before Tyler accepts that his friend is not going to say anything, not now and not ever, if he doesn't start their conversation right now. Josh does talk to him when others are around, he's even quite friendly and it feels like older days. But when they are alone he's mostly so far gone Tyler's not sure if he even recognises he's still here at his side, waiting, lingering, suffering. The singer hates to watch his friend turning into a zombie, every day from anew, every hour even more. Evenings like this are particullary bad, it's just the two of them sitting on a hill, Josh has hijacked one of the crew guys van and send a message to their security boss later, that they are fine and just are a little out to explore. They rarely get to do this these days and Tyler wishs it would be as nice as it sounds. But it results in them sitting in silence, watching the world asleep, Josh shooting himself out more and more with every hit he takes from a crystal pipe. 

Waiting for the bubbling to end and the smoke passing out into the open, forming strange shades of white on the way, Tyler comes clear, completly clear. He knows he can't help, how can a drowning save another? But he can at least make an attempt, something that might force Josh to act, in what way ever. Everything is better then this, then watching him killing himself slowly, because, stripped bare to the fact it is. This is nothing more then self hurt and destruction, and just because it's not as visible as the scars he wears on his own skin it doesn't mean it hasn't as much weight to it. "Josh?" he cranks out, his hands shaking even more then his voice does. The drummer already knows what's coming, of that he is sure, and Tyler wishes so hard there would be any kind of emotion between those half lidded, red eyes. "Yeah?" "If you don't stop doing this...I will quit the band." 

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Shallow threads, empty promises. Of course Tyler doesn't leave. He can't. There are contracts and obligations and life isn't just as easy as it seems. They both know that. But he does leave metaphorically. Tyler stops writing music. He stops speaking too much at interviews. He's still energetic on stage, but his interaction with the audience lessens. People start to talk. The confrontation is nearly uninventable, and maybe they would have end up in one final, nasty fight. Maybe the headlines would be others that day, if Josh wouldn't have been so stupid, so reckless enough to let himself get caught. And bam, there is it, the thing that has kept Tyler awake at night. It isn't only for their band's image going down the alley in no time, people calling them out the second they learn, it is how broken, lost, finished his friend looks when the two really friendly officers ask him to come their way. 

Tyler knows he will not stand their test, Josh is smoking twentyfourseven now. Still, while they discuss with their security manager a few feet away, he slips into his best friends bus and grabs what he can, slings it into a pillowcase, is lucky enough to leave the bus unseen. Cursing, tears running down his face Tyler hurries to get to the small river not far behind the parking lot and throws the whole stuff in there. He wonders if their future is drowning with it too.


End file.
